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Every weekday for going on two years now, Castiel had waited in the FBI office block’s foyer for Dean to arrive. He passed security, then sat on a bench outside the elevators, wearing his flasher coat, his hair a mess, his tie backwards, his hands curled around a tatty paperback novel, his torso craned down over the book.
Dean would sweep past in his ironed shirt and fresh cologne, putting his FBI badge back in his pocket as he headed to the elevator.
And then Castiel would join him, riding up to the sixteenth floor at his side.
It would’ve been a nice gesture, if it weren’t for the fact they weren’t friends. They barely even talked on their rides. They mentioned the weather, or ongoing work projects. Castiel twice wished Dean a happy birthday, and Dean occasionally pointed out to Castiel that he’d missed a patch while shaving, but that was about it.
Well, they worked together. They worked together a lot. They worked in the same small department, attended the same meetings, took slices of the same cake at Christmas. They both drank from the same water cooler by Castiel’s desk, and they both held and cooed at Jenna Nickerson’s baby when she came back from maternity leave. But that wasn’t friendship. That was... camaraderie. Friendly banter. They were acquaintances, not friends.
Yet, for whatever reason, Castiel continued to insist on only riding the elevator once Dean had arrived. Like he was his bodyguard, or something. Or like they were BFFs. Or like Cas was a very obvious stalker and Dean was his intelligent, attractive target – who admittedly found the attention flattering, even if it did come from a weirdo in a too-big coat and three-day stubble.
Dean never asked Castiel to stop, but also never asked why he joined him in the first place. He just let it happen, happy to believe Cas found him hot, or wanted other people in the office to think they were friends.
The latter was more likely, to be fair. Castiel didn’t really have... friends. He was nice, sure – he’d never offended anyone on purpose unless they started it, he just squinted a lot, and apologised if he found he’d been mistaken – but he didn’t seem to socialise outside of work. If he was ever handed a beer, he stood by a wall and picked at the label until it was time to leave.
Dean thought they’d make an unlikely pair, should they ever become friends. He himself made an effort to come into work looking sharp, whereas Castiel seemed to roll in and out of bed the same way.
Which is why it was strange – nay, alarming – when Dean boarded the empty elevator and a total stranger boarded with him.
Dean stared.
It took him a second to realise it was Castiel. Blue eyes, yes. Dark hair, yes. But it was cut neatly at the sides, a little froofy on the top. His stubble was short but not absent; his skin was bright, his tie was the right way around, and – Dean looked down – he was wearing new, shiny shoes.
Dean’s lips parted. Something gorgeous floated onto his tongue and stuck there; Castiel had a new cologne. Well, not just new – a cologne. He’d never worn any before.
Dean gave Castiel a couple of appreciative looks, then smirked, uttering, “New coat?”
Castiel glanced to his left, meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean felt a sting of electricity at the contact. “Yes,” Castiel said, in a deep voice that always seemed brutish before, but now, paired with the new look, came across as husky. “Yes, my sister Hannah invaded my life and decided to turn it upside down. Apparently ‘comfortable’ fashion doesn’t cut it anymore.”
Dean’s smirk eased towards a grin. “Yeah?”
Castiel sighed through his nose, chin tipped down. “I look silly, don’t I? I knew I did. The coat is too small.”
“No, no,” Dean said quickly. “It’s just right. Seriously.” His eyes lowered to Castiel’s ass, which was modestly but attractively covered, as the coat flared out a bit at his natural waist. Dean’s gaze flicked back to Castiel’s sharp jawline and pointed nose. “Hmh. Not for nothin’, Cas, but you look fuckin’ hot.”
Castiel raised his eyebrows, glancing in a flash towards Dean.
Dean blushed. “Uh. Uh, uh, uh, I mean. I mean that, like, in a businesslike, non-gay, non-workplace-harassment sort of way.”
Castiel quirked up an eyebrow. “Did you just ‘no homo’ me?” Smirking, he turned his eyes to the elevator dial, which showed they were nearing their floor.
“...No?” Dean said awkwardly, one hand clutching his satchel strap.
Castiel looked back at him as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Good,” he said. He took a step to leave, then paused and looked back. “For the record, I... um, I consent to any flirting you might feel inclined to do.”
He strode off into the office in a haze of peppermint and saltwater, shedding his coat like a fucking runway model as he headed to his desk. Dean stared after him, in shock. The elevator doors closed him in.
He took a moment to recover. Castiel was hot. He was hot and Dean never noticed.
And, wow, Dean had never known anyone to vocally consent to flirting before. But he smiled, and reached to press the button to open the elevator doors. He exited, and took a left, heading past Castiel’s desk, as he always did. But this time, he turned to look while Castiel was taking his seat. Dean winked. Castiel’s lips parted in surprise.
Dean went to his own cubicle, thrilled about what was about to start.
Let the flirting commence.
··· ♥ ···
Now Dean boarded the elevator with a smile, standing a couple inches closer to Cas than usual. “Sleep well?” he asked.
Castiel smiled, apparently to himself. He seemed happy Dean was even talking to him, let alone that he asked such a private question. “Well enough. You?”
Dean rolled a shoulder, catching Castiel’s eyes and holding them. “Tossed and turned a little.”
“Alone?” Castiel asked.
Dean felt heat in his belly. “Last few months? Yeah.”
“Oh,” Castiel said, eyes lowering to Dean’s lips, then back up. “Sorry to hear it.” He didn’t sound sorry.
“I’m not,” Dean said. He reached an elbow over and bumped Castiel’s side. “Makes things less complicated.”
Castiel put his hands in his pockets, smiling softly. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
It was quiet from then on. They parted ways with a brief smile.
Mid-afternoon, Dean dropped by Castiel’s desk, rapping his knuckles on the wooden surface that was at Castiel’s eyeline, where a vase of flowers and a plant sat. Castiel looked up from his laptop several seconds after the knock, visibly surprised that anyone wanted his attention.
“Oh,” he said, bursting into a smile. “Hello, Dean.”
Dean glanced around the office, and when nobody was near, he edged up to the water cooler, which was pressed with its back against the left of Castiel’s desk. Dean was almost convinced its placement had been a ploy by the Powers That Be in the office to make sure workers interacted with Castiel and he wasn’t so alone, but so far, it only meant people were more thirsty than usual. Dean imagined there had to be a tiny dragon guarding the water, given how people avoided it.
“Just, uh,” Dean said, taking a paper cup and lowering it to the nozzle, “came here for a cool drink of water.”
Castiel watched him fill the cup, while Dean admired Castiel’s neat eyebrows.
The cup filled, and Dean pulled it up beside his chest. “And,” he went on, taking a gulp, “for a sip of this.” He lowered the cup and tapped it with a finger.
Castiel took a moment to squint, but at the point Dean expected him to get it, he kept squinting.
“Dude,” Dean laughed, head down. “You’re the cool drink of water.”
“I am?”
“Ever heard Sweet Cherry Pie?”
“My mom used to make it.”
Dean threw his head back laughing. He chilled with unease when he realised people were starting to look. He quietened, sipping his water surreptitiously. “Naw, man,” he muttered. “It’s a song. Cool drink’a water, such a sweet sur-prii-ise... No?”
Castiel shook his head, wobbling a delicate lock of hair that craned over his tanned forehead.
Dean bit his lip, grinning. “Look it up.” He winked and wandered back to his own cubicle, sipping on his water as he went.
Three minutes later the chorus of the song blared out across the office, shaking the loose staples on the floor and sending the plants into shock. “—SHEEE’S MY, CHERRY PIE! COOL DRINK’A WATER SUCH A SWEET SUR-PRII-ISE! TASTES SO GOOD MAKE A GROWN MAN CRY! SWEET CHERRY PIII—”
The music stopped as abruptly as it started, and Dean leaned out from his cubicle on his wheely chair, eyes finding Castiel’s desk across the aisle, seeing that dark hair bobbing behind the wooden divider, a hand raised as he called, “Sorry! Sorry, everyone! Apologies. Headphone malfunction.”
Dean grinned, while other people laughed quietly.
He leaned back to his computer, but didn’t focus for a while. He kept smiling, stroking the empty cup with his thumb.
··· ♥ ···
“Okay, first off,” Dean said on a Wednesday, putting his water cup down and striding into Castiel’s cubicle, “you look great, and all, but this? Ruining the effect.”
Castiel looked where Dean was pointing. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows.
“If I leave them long I get ink on them.”
“That’s fine,” Dean said, perching his ass on the side of Castiel’s desk, fingering his left sleeve loose, rolling it back to his slim wrists. “You just gotta roll it properly. Like this, see? Fold it, don’t scrunch. Thennnn... tuck. You do the other side.”
Castiel did.
Dean stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Keep to it, hot stuff.”
“Alright?”
Dean took his cup, filled it again, then winked as he sipped. He sauntered away, feeling sexy because he knew Cas was watching his ass.
··· ♥ ···
On Thursday, Dean snorted. “What did I tell you? Fold, don’t roll. C’mere.” He grabbed Castiel’s wheely chair and rotated it to face him. Dean perched, then unrolled and re-folded Castiel’s sleeves, hands stroking Castiel’s strong forearms all the way up. “Don’t forget this time, okay? Promise you, buddy, it makes your shirt fit your shoulders better, shows off these nice arms you got. And the hands. Damn. You got it now?” He nudged Castiel’s jaw with his knuckles. “‘Kay.”
He left, feeling accomplished.
··· ♥ ···
On Friday, Dean realised Cas was doing it on purpose.
Castiel saw Dean arrive at the water cooler, and began to look expectant.
Dean eyed the scrunched-up sleeves. Then he grinned and hung his head, striding forward to do what Castiel wanted him to do. “You’re a sneaky bastard, Cas.”
“I do have ‘highly competent psychological strategist’ on my resume, yes. That is why they hired me, after all.”
“Sounds sexy when you say it like that.”
“I have yet to use that skill for the purposes of sex, but I would not be adverse.” He was watching Dean carefully when Dean glanced up. “I think that might even be fun, with the right partner.”
Dean felt heat in his cheeks, and lower.
“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said, once Dean had finished rolling his sleeves. “Perhaps I might remember next time.”
“Perhaps,” Dean said, dazedly. He got up, and swiped up his paper cup from the top of the water cooler. He went back to his desk, having forgotten to get a drink.
··· ♥ ···
There was something charging between them. The act of entering and exiting the elevator in the mornings seemed to amp up the tension, adding one more prickle of static on their skin, coiling tighter in their bellies.
Dean felt it. He was sure Cas felt it.
Cas seemed to drive their interactions into a more sexually charged place, almost without a word. Dean began each conversation thinking he was going to one-up the guy, or give him some helpful fashion pointers, only to be left a little shaken, a little more vulnerable. He kind of liked it. Kind of... a lot. He knew he was being messed with; Cas was obvious about the fact he was toying with Dean.
It wasn’t just the shirtsleeves.
It was the pen Cas dropped on the floor on purpose, which he then proceeded to ignore, expecting Dean to get it. Which he did. And Dean was then rewarded by eye contact, a soft smile, and a kind, “Thank you, Dean.”
Dean felt all kinds of sexy and squirmy inside after that. And he didn’t even know why.
No. It wasn’t just the shirtsleeves or the pen.
It was the assurance Castiel gave their co-workers that Dean was “good at following instructions” – which he was – but while nobody else noticed the seductive undertone, Dean caught Castiel’s eye across the conference room, breath stuck in his throat, knowing what Cas really meant.
“Aren’t you, Dean?” Castiel said lowly.
Dean could only nod. “Yes, sir-ee,” he said, lightly, while inside his heart was quaking, his legs squeezing together, all of him in the midst of realising that Cas wanted him in a way nobody ever wanted him before. Dean had only ever had the bravery to find that kind of attention online, anonymously.
The tension in the elevator was becoming fierce. Dean felt heat under his collar every morning. The crotch of his suit pants was too small all of a sudden. He bowed his head, electric currents sizzling under his skin because Cas was looking at him. Checking him out.
“What kind of underwear are you wearing?” Castiel asked when they hit the fourteenth floor.
Dean didn’t look back, and didn’t question why Cas asked. Didn’t think to hesitate. “Panties. Lace. Ocean blue.”
Castiel went quiet, perhaps surprised, perhaps appreciative. “Thank you, Dean.”
Dean was left alone as the doors swept open. He panted a few times, fists clenched.
He had no fucking idea how this happened. It was like he’d been only a standing observer in this entire racetrack-whoosh development, as Castiel went from being a scruffy, dorky nobody to maybe the next big thing up Dean’s ass.
Dean wanted him. He wanted Cas to fuck him up.
It had been weeks, at this point. Weeks, and they were still only flirting.
Dean wanted Cas to drag him into the men’s room and ream him against the back wall. He wanted Cas to stall the elevator and open his fly and push Dean to his knees to suck. Maybe keep him late after work and spank him with a manilla folder, bent over his knee over a wheely chair. And for fuck’s sake – Dean wanted Cas to ask him out on a date.
But Cas just teased.
Where was the steamy affair? Where was the workplace romance? Dean had no doubt he had a hardcore crush, and Cas liked him just as much, if not more, but they were caught somewhere between sweet and sultry, and Dean hadn’t yet been wooed or walloped, so he was at a loss.
Maybe Cas would drag this out for months. Years. He wasn’t just a strategist, he was a long-term strategist.
Yeah, the anticipation was delicious, and it made Dean look forward to work way more than usual – but he wanted to get some already.
Hey...
Now, look. If Cas could make such a mess of Dean... what was to stop him doing the same in return?
At last, Dean left the elevator, grinning widely.
··· ♥ ···
Castiel often stayed at his desk during the lunch break. Dean could only guess how he kept his tight figure – maybe he was a gym junkie. Dean had never seen him at his own men’s club, but there were plenty around town.
Today, Castiel hadn’t yet eaten, as he was still stuck into one of the many fractions of the project they called Operation Cinnamon. Cas was like that, he zoned everything out and focused.
Dean was a walking distraction.
In one hand he held a cup, three-quarters-full of vending machine coffee, the lid carefully unpopped. He’d left it on his desk to cool, dipping his finger in every so often to check the temperature.
He waited until everyone was out for lunch. Kept standing up to double-check who was left.
Okay, only Linda, over on the far side. Marienne, in the glass office on the right, door closed, blinds drawn down. A few people wandered around, chatting. Dean picked up his coffee cup, lifting the lid to take a sip, then lowering the lid to rest atop it again. He had two paper napkins wrapped around the cup, acting as insulation.
He made his causal way towards Castiel, wandering to the copier and back, so as not to arouse suspicion.
He took a few sheets of blank paper, deciding that if anyone asked, he was going to borrow a stapler. On impulse, he knocked his own stapler into the trash. He then made a beeline for Cas.
“Hey,” he said, tapping the wood. “‘Sup, Cas.”
Castiel made a flat noise, acknowledging Dean but making it clear he was thinking too hard to look up.
“You busy?” Dean asked, slinking around the barrier and past the water cooler, into the cubicle. Cas’s work area was tucked in a mid-room corner, so Dean could look out and had a good view of most of the office, and would see anyone coming. “You, uh, got a couple minutes to spare for me?”
Castiel took a breath. “Hm?” He saved his document with a two-key shortcut, then turned in his chair, opening his mouth to say, “Oh, hello, De—”
Dean gasped and toppled forwards as Castiel’s chair hit his too-close knee. Dean aimed just right, and the coffee fell with a splash into Castiel’s crotch.
“Ah!” Castiel leapt part-way out of his chair, but sat again, realising he was already wet.
“Ahh, shit,” Dean whispered. “Shit, you’re soaked. Ugh. C’mere. C’mere, I got you.” He fussed with napkins, but while Castiel babbled forgiving noises, Dean acted apologetic, crouching down to press both napkins against Castiel’s crotch.
“It’s fine, Cas, won’t stain, you’re wearing black. It’s fine.” Dean began to rub. Up and down. Pressing. “I’mma get you cleaned up, man. Nobody’ll even know.”
Castiel’s eyes lingered on Dean’s, seeing his calm act but seeing the flush of a lie on his cheeks. Castiel started to relax into his chair, recognising what Dean was doing.
“There, it’s working,” Dean purred, eyes on Castiel, feeling the start of an erection. “Does it feel hot?”
“Hot,” Castiel echoed.
“Yeah.” Dean bit his lip. “The, uh. The coffee. It is hot?”
Castiel shook his head. “Warm.”
Dean wet his lips and tilted his head in regret, eyes lowering to the now-visible swell between Castiel’s legs, which Dean pushed and massaged and stroked with the now-corroding napkins. “How ‘bout this?” He slipped two fingers under Castiel’s scrotum, making him squirm, legs apart, letting go of a huff. “That hot enough?”
Castiel met his eyes, dark pupils and parted lips and soft, surprised breaths. “Oh... Y-yes, actually, that... does... feel a bit hotter.”
Dean let the napkin fall in a pile of wet bits onto the chair, and he stood, bending close to Castiel, keeping his hand stretched down, holding his crotch. Cas was fully hard now. Dean felt breath rush against his cheek, heard a small whimper.
“You a fan of coffee?” Dean asked quietly.
Castiel nodded. “I love coffee.”
“Coincidence,” Dean grinned, rubbing his thumb over Castiel’s slacks, over the bulge of his cockhead, feeling him respond with a twitch. “I love coffee too. Hot. Slow-dripped... steamy? Ugh, and cream,” he groaned, voice breaking, delighting in the renewed darkness in Castiel’s eyes. “You like your coffee like that, Cas? With thick, white cream?”
Castiel let out a soft whimper, pushing his hips into Dean’s hand. “Yeah. Dean.” Legs open. Hands gripping the arm rests on his chair.
Dean moaned at the back of his throat, agreeably. “You like this?” He squeezed, fist closing part-way around Castiel’s junk. Castiel let out a small cry, eyes shut, before he went silent and nodded, nodded, nodded.
He rested back on his chair, starting to thrust his hips gently towards Dean.
Dean smiled. “Awesome,” he said, letting go of Cas, picking up the napkin bits instead. “Maybe you’d wanna go out sometime. Get some... coffee.” He stood straight and backed up, loving what a wreck he’d left Castiel. The guy was dazed, lips parted, plump, and red, while his boner was pushing up on his belt buckle, hands still clutching the arm rests like they were all that held him up. He started to look at Dean less with desire and more with realisation.
He’d just been fucked with. And Dean won this round.
Dean just smiled and left.
··· ♥ ···
If Castiel could wait for Dean to arrive before joining him, Dean could do the same. Castiel liked to wait outside the elevators. But Dean waited outside the bathroom.
Castiel usually took a bathroom break four times in a workday – eleven a.m., once his morning coffee went through him, at two (post-lunchtime coffee), at five-thirty, then, finally, at seven-thirty, just before he left work to head home.
Yeah, Dean studied his movements for a few days, so what? Cas tailed him for two years; Dean could tail him back.
Cas hadn’t yet asked Dean out, which meant one of three things: he wasn’t interested in him romantically, wasn’t interested at all, or he was waiting for the right time, place, or opportunity. Given the way he looked at Dean in the elevator, like he was thinking about turning him upside-down and gagging him with his own necktie – or maybe that was just Dean’s fantasy – Cas was definitely interested, at least sexually. Given the way he blushed and went doe-eyed when Dean passed his desk, saying nothing more incendiary than “Hey,” Dean confirmed he was interested romantically.
Which meant it was a matter of waiting.
Dean could wait. He was a good waiter. A patient waiter.
But three days with almost no interaction was too long.
So Dean waited outside the men’s restroom by the elevators on the sixteenth floor at seven-thirty on a Friday, knowing everyone else was either gone or leaving. Castiel stayed late, as he had nobody to get home to – apparently his sister had come and gone like a whirlwind – and he always had lots of work to do. Dean had stayed late these last few days too, just to check when Cas clocked out.
Seven-thirty came and went.
Dean squirmed and fidgeted in place, because damn, he really needed to pee. He’d been holding on since three, just so he had something to do once he got in there. But he wasn’t gonna leave his post until he’d done what he was waiting here to do.
It was seven-forty-three when Cas came by, trenchcoat over one arm, pushing the door open from the main office. He looked back, then turned towards the bathroom. “Dean,” he said in surprise.
Dean rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets, trying not to look like he was ten seconds from pissing himself. “Hey, hot stuff.”
Castiel took in a small breath. “I, um. I have to—” He gestured to the bathroom.
“Me too,” Dean said, pushing the door open for Cas.
Castiel went in first with a word of thanks. He beelined for the urinals, unzipping on his way. Dean grinned, following a couple paces behind.
There were four individual ceramic urinals with no privacy dividers between them, and Castiel picked the one second from the right.
Dean stood at the one just to his left.
··· ♥ ···
Castiel eyed Dean’s face curiously, wondering why he was here – besides the obvious. He’d evidently been waiting for Castiel. Now Dean let out a huge sigh, eyes shut, head tipped back as he started to relieve himself. He must’ve been desperate.
Now, Castiel was no natural expert on human etiquette or behaviour, but he’d read every book and watched every instructional video he could lay his hands on, which did eventually render him an expert.
He knew Dean wasn’t meant to stand next to him to pee if there were other urinals available.
This was flirting.
Castiel looked back to his own business, head down, keeping his trenchcoat carefully out of the splash zone.
Dean drew a quick breath. “Oops,” he said, looking down.
Castiel’s eyes shot to where Dean’s hands fiddled, shocked to see Dean standing a few inches back from the urinal, hand under his cock to show it off while he peed. With a dastardly huff, uttering, “You eyeballin’ me, now?” Dean pulled his white, lacy panties up over his cockhead while he was still peeing, and his strong flow emerged through the fabric and landed silently in the urinal. He drew a deep breath as he finished, and didn’t even shake the visible drip off his underwear before zipping up, wet.
Castiel couldn’t comprehend what he’d just witnessed. He looked up to Dean’s eyes for an explanation, only to see Dean grin. Dean muttered, “Made you look.”
He turned and went to the sinks.
Castiel’s blood ran ice-cold. But the ice melted and went up in a puff of thick steam, and he realised he’d gotten a little hard in his own hand. He huffed, looked down, and winced as he put himself away, finally empty. He wasn’t sure what to do or look at as he approached the sinks.
Dean was smirking at him in the mirror.
“What—” Castiel started. “W-Why—”
Dean shrugged. “I like feelin’ a little wet. Little dirty. Don’t you?” He reached to snatch out a blue paper towel from the dispenser. He dried his hands, then used the paper to pull the door handle open. “Sometimes.”
He balled up the paper and tossed it into the trash, then left, leaving behind only a hint of faded cologne and an exceptionally strange, swirly, wet feeling in Castiel’s lower half. He didn’t have pee in his underwear but he felt like he did, just from seeing what Dean did. Did Dean really want to feel wet all evening?
Castiel left the restroom, pulling on his coat. Dean was nowhere to be seen.
How could someone enjoy that? Wetting themselves on purpose?
For that matter, why had Castiel enjoyed watching that? Was it just Dean’s penis that excited him? Or what he did with it? There was no denying there was a thrum of arousal in Castiel’s body, even now, a full minute after seeing Dean do such a messy thing with so much confidence, clearly for the purpose of exhibitionism.
Castiel wondered if he was supposed to be disgusted. If anyone else had done such a thing in front of him he would’ve worried about them. Yes – any other workmate, he would’ve felt repulsed, and uncomfortable. But he wasn’t attracted to any of those people.
He liked Dean. It must be about Dean.
Still, Castiel did not understand that kind of mentality, what would drive Dean to act like that. If this was sexual... it had to be a kink, or a fetish, yes? Wanting someone to watch him relieve himself? Castiel pondered alone in the elevator down. Maybe there was information online that Castiel could look up at home. Explanations. Demonstrations. Instructions. Suggestions.
A strange new world had suddenly burst into existence in Castiel’s knowledge-hungry mind. Dean had taken him by the hand and led him in, and he wanted to explore.
··· ♥ ···
Just over two weeks later, on Monday, November 7th, Castiel visited the bathroom at five-thirty p.m. and saw there was a paper sign tacked on the door.
Bathrooms on this floor will be closed for deep cleaning Tuesday Nov 8th. (8pm to 11pm.)
When Castiel read that, he smiled, and began to ponder.
Pondering turned to fantasy.
By the time he went home that evening, wishing Dean a good night as he left, the act of fantasising had become something more like... scheming.
By the time parked his car in his garage that night, he had a plan. And an erection.
··· ♥ ···
“Guess today’s the day, huh,” Dean uttered, leaning casually on the wood by Castiel’s desk. He finished up his croissant in a single bite, and looked wistfully towards the conference room door. “Who d’ya fphink’s gonna get the offish thish month – Jenna, me, or you?”
“It’s going to be Marienne, it’s always Marienne,” Castiel said, closing his laptop and standing up from his desk, laptop under his arm, sleeves properly rolled up. “She’s been directing every major part of the sting since Operation Cinnamon started, she’s hardly going to give up her vital thinking space now. Not even so one of us could finally enjoy having our own personal office.”
“Aw.” Dean left his empty croissant plate on the wood, then put his hands in his pockets and tagged by Castiel’s side as they headed for the conference room. “Yeah, you’re right. I dunno, I kind of fancied myself the leader of this next section of the project.”
Castiel smiled. “You will be someday, Dean. I do think you’d make a good team leader.”
“Eaaah, not as good as you,” Dean said to Castiel, nodding to Marienne and Jenna as the the four of them found a seat each, pulling chairs out around the oval lightwood table. Castiel sat beside Dean, their chairs pressed together, even though there was ample room to spread out.
The clock on the wall said it was five o’clock exactly. There were three glass jugs of lemon water on the table, and a coffee machine dripping into the pot near the door. The floor-to-ceiling windows along the back of the conference room overlooked the blue skyscraper city as it got dark, but the view was misted by condensation on the windows. The heater buzzed faintly in the background, but it only made the room stuffy, and Dean was immediately thirsty.
He poured himself a drink, unsure why he felt Castiel stroking his leg. Dean looked at him. “You want some?”
Castiel nodded.
Dean poured him some, and handed the second glass over.
Castiel took a few eager sips, smiling. “Thank you, Dean.”
Okay, that was the sexy kind of thank you. Dean knew just by the way he’d said it that Cas had something up his sleeve.
Dean smiled. “You’re welcome.” He sipped his water, pretending not to notice that Cas stroked his leg again.
“Okay, is everyone here?” Marienne asked. It didn’t take her a second to count three other people. “Yup. All-rightyyy.” She went to close the door. “You know why you’re here, agents. Operation Cinnamon is closer than ever before to success, but there’s still eight major ivory traffickers at large. Our best shot, of course, is making that website... But oh, Lord, the website—”
Everyone chuckled, knowing intimately how spectacularly behind schedule the website was.
“I’ve led every part of this project since its foundation,” Marienne went on, as Dean took another sip and Castiel stroked his leg, “and I’ve done it well, I might add – yes, yes, you’re nodding – okay good, not a tyrant. But – guys, let’s be honest here. I can’t work on the website personally and keep up the winning streak. Glass cliff, and all that. Jenna, Dean, Castiel – God, the higher-ups hate me. They hate me. They put me onto Operation Cinnamon hoping I’d fail and then Mr. Sexual Harassment Lawsuit wouldn’t get the blame for plunging this department into the understaffed, underfunded, slow-moving chaos it now is.”
Dean rolled his eyes as he nodded. They didn’t speak his name any more, but Mr. Sexual Harassment Lawsuit was... let’s say, not a fan favourite around here.
“So, look,” Marienne said, firmly placing the side of her hand on the table, “I know it sounds ironic, but I need someone to take the website off my hands. Fix it. Make it work. But under no circumstances allow it to fail. Because the directors will bump me to a different department. And whoever replaces me here will not be good at their job.”
Dean cringed. He took a sip of water, sitting up straighter when Castiel’s hand slipped between his thighs.
“Jenna,” Marienne turned her eyes to her friend, “there’s no way in haitch-ee-double-hockey-sticks I’m taking you away from that baby any longer than I have to.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” Jenna sighed. “Was worried there for a sec. Was mentally planning how I was gonna tell the wife.”
Marienne laughed and shook her head. “Not you, darling, not with the baby. Absolutely not. So,” she looked over at Castiel, “that’s why I’m choosing you, Castiel.”
Castiel squeezed Dean’s thigh in shock. “Pardon me?”
“You heard me. You’re now in charge of the website part of Operation Cinnamon. Let’s call it... Operation Pretzel Bites. That’s cute. And you’re gonna need a good, quiet place to get the old brain cogs whirring, so... you’ll get my office, as a bonus.”
Castiel’s jaw dropped. “You’re letting me— Really? Do I get a team?”
“A team, yes. You can also bring in third parties for the coding if need be, so long as they sign an NDA. How many people do you need to form a workable website concept?”
Dean took a sip of water and Castiel forgot to stroke him, which proved to Dean how stunned Castiel was about becoming team leader. Dean smirked.
“H-How many—” Castiel looked about, then shook his head. “Just one. Just need one. Dean Winchester.” He looked at Dean, fawnish, and Dean noticed how the women chuckled, perhaps aware of how fond he was of Dean. “Yes, I just want Dean.”
Dean grinned, looking down into his water. “Buy me a drink first, buddy.”
“Why buy when they’re free?” Castiel said, grabbing a nearby jug and filling up Dean’s glass. He then filled his own glass, and tipped it towards Dean. “To the new team, and our new office. Operation Pretzel Bites.”
“To us,” Dean said, clinking his glass. “And the contraband we’re about to seize and the elephants we’re about to rescue.”
Castiel smiled, holding Dean’s eye as Dean drank. Cas stroked his leg as he swallowed.
Dean got the point. Drinking more was good. He didn’t know why, or what Cas was playing at.
But even so, Dean liked the stroking. So he filled his glass again and drank.
··· ♥ ···
The glass-walled office no longer belonged to Marienne, as she didn’t need the space anymore, so she began packing up her belongings the moment the meeting was over. Jenna went home, but Dean saw a few FBI lackeys come in and help the boss shift her files to the half-empty shelves behind Castiel’s old desk, emptying her drawers into boxes.
Dean and Castiel remained in the adjacent conference room, but moved closer to the heater.
Dean was busy typing up a project concept on Castiel’s laptop when Castiel stood up suddenly, rushing to the conference room door and calling out, “Please, if you wouldn’t mind— Marienne. May I have the water cooler moved to the new office? And the trash can. I’ve grown quite attached to their presence.”
Dean laughed to himself, not hearing Marienne’s exact reply, but hearing her laugh.
“Thank you so much,” Castiel said to the big man in a black suit who immediately headed towards the water cooler. Castiel returned to the conference room, door shut behind him. He seemed a tad flustered to Dean, rubbing the back of his neck, a flush of colour on his cheeks.
“Don’t feel bad about it,” Dean assured him. “If I suddenly and unexpectedly got kicked outta my cubicle, I’d wanna keep a few of my creature comforts. The water cooler, though? Little weird, not gonna lie.”
“I don’t ever let unforeseen changes upset my arrangements, that’s all.” Castiel sat beside Dean again and tucked his chair close. “Don’t forget to mention the elephants. The whole point of this project is that we save elephants.”
Dean chuckled, looking at his typed outline. “God, this is gonna take forever. What time is it— Seven-forty? Jeez. You usually head home now.”
“We can stay late,” Castiel said soothingly. “Unless you have somewhere to be?”
Dean shook his head, already digging in his pocket for his cellphone. He dialled 1, and hit call. Castiel pulled his laptop closer and kept typing as Dean let the phone ring.
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said as his brother picked up. “It’s me.”
“Hey. Did you want defrosted pot roast for dinner or were you bringing take-out?”
“Um, I actually already ate, there were free croissants and bacon and stuff— Yeahyeahyeah I know, the FBI spends too much money on food— We gotta fuel our brains, alright. But. No. No, I’m, uh. I’m stayin’ late.”
Sam sighed. “Pot roast it is.”
“Hey, don’t knock it! I added coriander.”
Sam huffed a laugh. “Okay. Thanks. You by yourself?”
“Oh, no, it’s Cas typing.”
“Cas?”
“Yeah, you know. Elevator hobo.” Castiel looked up, bothered by that comment. Dean squirmed. “He’s hot now. OkaybyeSam see you later, maybe tomorrow.”
“Um. Bye?”
Dean hung up, blushing. “Don’t judge me, okay, I needed to describe you to Sam and that was the phrase that stuck.”
Castiel pointedly said nothing, eyes lowered to the keyboard, typing, expressionless.
Dean bit his lower lip, watching his friend. “Look... Cas... I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ignored you so long. Sorry I never noticed you were such a cool guy, either. I’m kind of a jerk like that. Got this job acting like I think with my upstairs brain, but God knows that whole concept is still a work-in-progress. Guess it doesn’t help that I’m single. Too horny to think, sometimes.”
Castiel gave Dean a forgiving smile. “At least you think I’m ‘hot’ now.”
“You were hot before,” Dean said quietly. “Just in a different way. I like how persistent you were, but never pushy, you know? Nice, quiet presence. Was kind of reassuring.”
Castiel smiled genuinely at that. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Joke’s on me, anyway,” Dean said, pulling the laptop closer and finishing a sentence Castiel wasn’t done typing. “I missed out on two years of friendship by judging a book by its cover.”
Castiel huffed. “I did the same. And I’m sure I regret it just as much as you.”
“What?” Dean lifted his fingers from the keyboard, watching Cas.
Castiel rolled a shoulder. “You seemed very work-focused and serious whenever I saw you, so I didn’t think you’d be interested in pursuing other channels of interaction.”
“Hey, I goof off. But when I’m at work I’m, y’know, working.”
“I know that now.”
Dean and Castiel shared a similarly regretful smile, which turned into mirrored grins when Dean patted Castiel’s shoulder and squeezed through his shirt.
“At least we’re friends now,” Castiel said.
Dean knocked his knee on Castiel’s, friendly, as he started to type again. “Okay!” He finished his sentence, then scrolled to the top of the document. “What’re we doing?”
“Dean, you know what we’re doing.”
“Talk it through.”
“Hhhhh. Fine. The whole point is to create a website to lure in the targets and bring down the crime ring,” Castiel said, tapping a fingertip on the table.
“Mm-hm,” Dean said, sipping his water. Castiel’s hand shot under the desk so he could stroke him, and Dean grinned, uttering, “So it’s gotta be enticing to ivory retailers. So, what, covered in elephant clip-art?”
“No, classy,” Castiel decided, thumbing the seam of Dean’s pants as he took another sip. “They’re not selling raw elephant tusks, they’re making new pianos and figurines and passing them off as vintage. These people are older men – over fifty – with many cumulative years in an artistic background, looking for a high price point— This website needs to look like we’re selling, I don’t know, little poodle figurines the size of a grain of rice. Made by someone who doesn’t know how to make a website.”
“So we’re not just making a shitty website with some data cruncher running in the background to grab their IP addresses, becaaaaause...?”
“Because it needs to be untraceable, and it still needs to be functional enough that we can set up a clandestine meeting.”
“Mm-hm, yeah, exactly. Not tryna sell shit, we’re tryna get the guys to show up so we can catch them.” Dean nodded. “Yeah, I think we got all that in here.”
Castiel sighed slowly, leaning back in his chair. “It’s such a pity Operation Cinnamon is run by a small department. If we had the resources that, say, the drug trade agents or the undercover agents got, this wouldn’t have taken three weeks, it would’ve been done in a matter of days.”
“Pff! Tell me about it.”
Castiel checked his watch. “Seven-forty-seven.” He shook his wrist so his watch hung loose, and then wriggled in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.
“How long are we staying, anyway?” Dean asked, scratching his head as he looked over their outline, making sure they hadn’t missed any must-haves.
“You could leave now if you liked,” Castiel said. “But I imagine a few hours of work now would save a whole day tomorrow. And the faster we work, the faster we prevent the illegal trade of elephant tusks.”
“True.” Dean bristled the stubble around his lips with the back of his knuckles. “Okay. Guess we’re pullin’ an all-nighter.”
Dean couldn’t tell if Castiel was pleased or agitated over that; he’d sat up straighter, legs tightening in a knot. His boot began to bounce under the table. But he smiled.
They spent ten, then fifteen minutes polishing up their concept, reading parts of it aloud to each other until it triggered thoughts, and then typed out those thoughts in a manic rush of keys and fingers. Dean needed the bathroom, but they were almost done, and it was almost eight o’clock, so he figured he could wait.
“I got a good hacker friend, Charlie Bradbury,” Dean said. “Figure she’d be great at this, makin’ the website. She codes in her free time.”
“Would she sign an NDA?”
“Yeah, we’ve worked together a few times,” Dean waved a hand. “I can package these notes up and email them over now if we want. She’s nocturnal so it’s basically her morning now. She’d sign an NDA before breakfast.”
“You trust her?”
“Chuh! With my freaking life.”
“Does she like elephants?”
“With seasoning? Sure.” Dean laughed when Castiel looked baffled. “I’m kidding, Cas. Yeah, she’s a Dumbo fan. I’ll send it over, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Dean held off on going to the bathroom for another seven minutes, tossing a Non-Disclosure Agreement to Charlie, and swearing her to secrecy in just a single minute, before he emailed her the website concept.
“Okay!” Dean sat back from Castiel’s laptop, hands open around the screen. “That’s it. Are we done?”
“We need to actually make the website, now,” Castiel said.
“Right. Yeah. But I mean—” Dean stood up, flinching as everything in his bladder seemed to drop three inches closer to his dick with an internal gloosh. “Natural stop point. I can take a bathroom break.”
“It’s eight-ten,” Castiel said, checking the clock on the wall, then the laptop clock. “Bathrooms are closed for cleaning until eleven.”
“What!” Dean yelped. “Aw, come on!”
Castiel smirked, folding his laptop and standing up, breathing a little erratically for a second. “I’m sure that is very frustrating. All that water we drank...” He looked at the two empty jugs. Then at Dean, softly. “Let’s go and look at my new office? We can carry on working in there.”
Dean hesitated, but figured he could hold on a few more minutes, for Cas’ sake. “Yeah, okay.”
They turned off the heaters, then left the conference room, entering the big, empty workroom of cubicles. The room was completely deserted. Dean looked longingly towards the main exit, where, through the glass door, he could see a cleaning cart parked outside the men’s room, blocking the doorway. Gritting his teeth, then relaxing, he followed Castiel into his new office.
“Ohh, nice,” Dean said brightly, surprised how blank the place looked. Window blinds drawn down. No files, no papers, nothing on the desk; empty drawers. Just one solid steel trash can on the carpet by the desk, and the water cooler, placed with its back to the empty shelves. “Yeah, I can see you living here. Nice private space for all the thinking you do.”
Castiel put his laptop down on the desk, pulling out the leather wheely chair. “Bring a chair in for you, I think.”
Dean clicked his fingers and pointed towards Castiel, then left to get a chair. He got the one from his own desk, wheeling it all the way through the maze of cubicles towards Castiel’s glass-fronted office. The blinds on the window that overlooked the rest of the workroom were drawn halfway down, so Dean could see Castiel’s shoes pacing about, and then his hand as he placed the trash can in the centre of the room, four feet from the back of the desk, three feet from the door.
“Why there?” Dean asked, pushing his wheely chair in and closing the door behind himself. “Someone’s gonna trip.”
Castiel just smiled secretively, and headed to sit at his own chair, scooting up to sit at the desk.
“Cas,” Dean licked his lips. “Look, uh. I wanna save elephants by entrapping piano sellers as much as the next guy, but I’ve kinda really gotta take a whizz right now. Are any of the other floors open?”
“They’re passcode locked, I checked.”
Dean frowned. “Damn FBI, being all top-security n’ shit.”
Castiel gave him a placating smile. “Hang on a few more minutes? Come on, Ms. Bradbury replied. She’s given me a long list of reasons why our outline needs to be altered to fit the abilities of basic HTML coding. Apparently using any more complex codes would rouse suspicion and break the illusion of a badly-made website.”
Dean sighed and went to sit down, bowed legs trying to press together. “Alright. So where do we start?”
They went through the plan again, Dean nodding, making notes on paper while Castiel read out Charlie’s message.
Dean started to sweat, sitting at the edge of his seat. “This is takin’ too long,” he breathed, as Castiel was halfway done reading. “Let’s just call her.”
He dialled before Castiel could object.
“Hey, Charlie.”
“Hey, nerd. You got my email?”
“Yeah, we’re picking it apart. Look, can you just – I dunno – ignore everything we said and just do it whatever way you think seems right? You get what we’re going for, yeah?”
“Crappy website selling brand-new gross dead elephant bits made to look fancy and old.”
“Yeah.”
“Can do.”
“Then do.” Dean eased out a stressed breath. “Thanks, sister.”
“No problem.”
Dean hung up, shooting Castiel a nervous glance. He expected Castiel to look annoyed that Dean stole and handed over control like that, but instead he looked intrigued, and had a gentle smile on his lips, eyes lowered to Dean’s slightly bulging abdomen. “Do you really need to pee?”
Dean coughed out a laugh, too tense to laugh properly. “Just tryna hurry up the process, that’s all. But yeah.” He squirmed left to right, making his seat creak. “Dunno what the hell to do. Guess we could cut this short and head home. Could make it to my car and keep my legs crossed as I drive.”
“That seems a little unnecessary. Besides, think of the poor elephants.”
Dean frowned, trying to smile. “Yeah.” He put a hand between his legs and squeezed. Then he shook his head. “Yeah, no, I can’t focus like this.” He stood up. “Sorry, man, I gotta head home. See you around, alright? Congrats on the office.”
“Dean—” Castiel stood up too, gently taking Dean’s wrist. “You don’t have to leave. Here.” He went around the desk, and knocked the trash can with his boot. It clanged then went silent. “Use this.”
Dean eyed the trash can, then Castiel. “Excuse me?”
Castiel wet his lips, his eye contact becoming more intense than usual. “The only problem is that...” he glanced towards the closed door and the window with the blind halfway down, its slats open enough to see through, “someone may come along at any moment. So you had better make it quick.” His voice deepened, husky and thick as he suggested, with complete, unbroken eye contact, “I suggest you relieve yourself for three seconds, and then stop. Before anyone sees.”
Dean stared, uncomprehending. “What?”
Castiel’s eyes darted to the can then back up. “You need to pee. So pee.”
Dean’s lips parted, wondering in a chaos of thought what the hell was going on. The offer was a fine one, sure, use Cas’ trash can. It solved a painful problem, right? But that didn’t explain why Cas told him to go for just three seconds.
Castiel seemed to register that Dean didn’t understand, so he glanced down, saying gently, “Here, I’ll demonstrate.” He unzipped his pants, pulled down his navy-blue boxers, and popped out his cock, taking the tip between two fingers and aiming it down. “Like this.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, dude—”
Castiel started to drip, then the drip became a full, fast, presumably hot stream, shooting straight into the trash can, hissing and clonking as it upset a small pile of balled-up waste paper and bounced off the metal sides. Castiel let out a slow breath of relief, then winced, his flow easing to nothing. He dripped once, then tucked himself back away and zipped up. “Three seconds. See? Well, it was more like five. I found it hard to stop once I started.”
Dean was utterly dumbfounded. Cas just took a piss in a trash can right in front of him. And not even a whole piss, either, just five seconds of a piss, because – why? – he didn’t want anyone to see? Even though Dean was... standing... right here?
Finally, it began to dawn on Dean what was going on. He laughed breathily, one hand rising to comb the back of his head, head turned, cheeks ablush. “Shit.”
“No... I don’t think that’s a good idea, not in here.”
Dean looked up, stunned. “You think I’m into – this? Wet... stuff?”
Castiel seemed smug. “Aren’t you?”
Dean shook his head, grinning.
Castiel’s resolve seemed to falter. His smile drooped, his lips parted, he glanced away.
“I get it,” Dean said, “I get why you’d think I was. The wet coffee in your lap. The – the thing at the urinal? But I was just showin’ you my dick, Cas. You were taking too damn long to get into my pants and I was trying to kick you into gear.”
“But— You said—”
“I like bein’ wet, yeah. Wet feels like pre-come when I’m hard. Doesn’t mean I’m into – this. All of this freaky stuff.”
Castiel glanced around, mouth open, then hung his head, embarrassed.
Dean bit his lip. “That’s why you had me drink so much? You wanted me – what – desperate?”
Castiel cleared his throat. “You can leave if you want. I’m sorry. I th-thought you’d enjoy me taking control of how much and when you were allowed to relieve yourself— I was clearly mistaken, apologies.” He headed backwards for the door, taking the handle and opening it, head down.
Dean stared at the open door, then at his embarrassed, dejected friend. Dean sucked his lower lip, thinking, dipping his eyes to the trash can.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Close the door, Cas,” Dean said. “I’m not gonna make it if I leave. I gotta go, like, right now.”
Castiel looked up in surprise. He closed the door, then stepped forward to watch as Dean unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, untucked his shirt, pulled down his panties, and let his cock flop out, secure in his hand. He started peeing before he’d even aimed, but thankfully not a drip missed the trash can.
Dean watched Castiel while he peed. Castiel clearly wasn’t sure if he should be looking, glancing away often, but couldn’t help glancing back. Dean grinned, forcing his flow to a stop. He growled at the back of his throat, tucking himself back in, still wet at the tip.
“You’re not going to finish?” Castiel asked, eyes meeting Dean’s.
Dean shrugged, smiling with his mouth open. “Three seconds, you said. Just took the edge off.”
Castiel stood taller, drawing a curious breath through parted lips. Dean fumbled, blushing as he bowed his head and tidied up his front, doing his belt up again. God, he still needed a piss. If he were at home right now, if he felt like this, he would’ve stopped what he was doing and rushed for the toilet to let it all out. Yet, somehow, he was now prepared to wait again.
“Alright. So.” Dean turned back for the desk, letting all the blushing happen while his back was turned, passing the water cooler on the way. He controlled his face as he turned to face the desk again. “Charlie’s working in real time. Let’s, uh. See what she’s making, yeah?”
“...Yeah,” Castiel said, after a second. He blinked, eyebrows raised, then made his way forward. Dean could see he was rattled, but quietly thrilled Dean had agreed to his dirty little game.
Castiel sat on his leather wheely chair, watching Dean sit down too.
They shared a small, shy smile. Then Castiel chuckled and looked down, and Dean cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. That one sweet little moment between them felt fucking awesome.
Dean felt all his worries and anxieties dissipate, because yeah, having such a pressing physical need made him vulnerable, but Cas was taking care of it. He’d tell Dean what to do. Dean didn’t need to worry. Cas was going to pay attention to his needs and react accordingly – and Dean had never, not once, felt so safe with a male partner. He trusted Cas as an FBI agent, a teammate, as well as a friend... so it wasn’t hard to trust him with more intimate matters.
Dean grinned, and looked over what Charlie was working on. Her screen was connected to Castiel’s laptop now, so they could see her cursor move and her lines of code typed out in real time. She had a cat paw for a cursor.
After a couple minutes, Castiel got up and fetched them each a paper cup from the water cooler, filling them. He handed one to Dean, leaning his ass on the desk and sipping his own.
Dean held the cup warily. “If I drink this I’m gonna need to go even more badly than I already do.”
Castiel sipped his own drink, a sly twinkle in his eyes.
Oh. Right. That was the point.
Dean tipped the cup back and downed the water, offering it to Castiel for more. Castiel filled it, and handed it over, reaching to stroke Dean’s cheek with the back of his hand. Dean shut his eyes, smiling at the touch. He adored physical praise.
He drank his second water more slowly, because there was actual work to do, and his stomach was kind of slooshy anyway.
Twenty minutes passed, and Dean kept his hands on the keyboard for most of that time, even though his natural inclination was to slip them between his legs and squeeze. He let his legs twist together, toes curling in his shoes. Castiel was more composed, though Dean could only assume he was equally as desperate. Maybe he’d practised holding. Or maybe he just had a steel bladder, which Dean definitely did not have.
Actually, on that note, maybe he did. A steel vessel could only hold a certain volume. A rubber bladder, on the other hand, could stretch.
In that case, Dean had a steel bladder. Cas had a stretchy one. So Dean was suffering.
“Are you all right?” Castiel asked, stroking Dean’s inner thigh, then his crotch, as Dean gulped down some more water just to take his mind off the swell of his abdomen. “Do you need to go, Dean?”
Dean nodded. “C-C-Can maybe hold on. A minute.”
“Alright. I need to go, though, do you want to watch?”
Dean’s temperature soared at being asked that. He was almost offended – no, he didn’t want to watch!
But then Cas went to stand at the trash can in the middle of the room, facing Dean, eyes turned down, peeing with so much force that the wet balls of paper in the can bounced around, and Dean realised, yes, he was going to watch whether he thought he wanted to or not. Cas had such a firm manner about him; after three seconds, he stopped his flow, and put himself away like he was actually done and the task was complete. Businesslike, he returned to the desk.
Dean felt something leak out of him. “OkayIgotta— I gotta—”
“Go on.” Castiel stood up again to let Dean past.
Dean hurried to the can, fighting with his zipper to open his fly. “Aaah!” He gasped, peeing before he was even out. A flash of liquid leapt upward, landing on the carpet as he finally freed himself and aimed down, head tipped back, eyes shut, heaving relieved breaths, feeling the pressure lessen. He heard a thick, deep, wet, bubbling sound, unlike the sound of liquid hitting the trash can – and he looked down just as his three seconds were up, dismayed to see he’d just peed straight on the carpet, missing the trash can entirely. “Oh my God.”
“It’s all right,” Castiel smiled. “We can clean up later.”
There was a shiny, dark splash on the carpet now, seven inches wide. It was a tough blue carpet, thin-pile, made up of grooved lines. Dean remembered having something similar in his middle school classroom. Spills made no difference to it; it just got darker until it dried. The puddle was almost black, and it spread out a bit.
“God.” Dean put himself away, chills rushing down his back, halfway between guilt and arousal. He’d just taken a piss on the fucking carpet like a dog that hadn’t been house-trained. Who the hell was he and what was wrong with him?
Dean headed back to the desk, face feeling hot. “How do we wash our hands?” he asked, rubbing his palms together, hoping he could get the dirty feeling off him. “This might not be a bathroom but I still wanna be clean, you know?”
“Later,” Castiel said, sitting down. “We can make a mess and clean up later, laptop keys included. You like being a little dirty, I recall.”
Dean shrugged, sitting so close their knees touched. “Again, didn’t mean in this context, but sure.”
“Drink,” Castiel said softly, tipping his own cup back.
Dean drank, and was rewarded by a big, confident hand slipped over his crotch, pressing, squeezing. Dean moaned, pushing into it, feeling weird ‘cause he wanted to pee into it, and he’d definitely never wanted that before. The fact he was still wet inside his panties made the need to go even worse – like it was halfway out already, like finishing the job would be easy.
“While Charlie works on the coding,” Castiel said with unbelievable coolness as he took back his hand, “you and I need to discuss the other parts of the website, the community draw. Of course we’re only trying to trap eight sellers, but I had an idea that we could make it look like there’s a bigger community of ivory enthusiasts, and make a sort of... network. A chatroom, a forum, that sort of thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s awesome,” Dean grinned. “Make it underground exclusive, give ‘em that FOMO feel, right? Say, uhhh. There’s fifty places, and half – no – three quarters of them are filled. So if they want in, they gotta pass a test, prove they have legit merchandise, and—” Castiel clicked, nodding. Dean went on, feeling proud, “And they can set up their own meetings with our undercover forum agents. That way they feel like they’re in control.”
“Yes,” Castiel said, eyes meeting Dean’s. “I find only the rarest of men feel comfortable giving up control.”
Dean smirked. “Yeah, well.” He hunched towards the desk, fiddling with the USB drive plugged into the side of Cas’ laptop. “It’s all about trust, right? The sellers, they, uh. They feel good about themselves around the people in the forum. Feel like. Feel like they’re in good hands. Safe. Like everything’s being handled by someone who knows what they’re doing – someone who knows what they’re doing is bad, and-and-and wrong, and dirty, and shouldn’t be allowed, so they. They take precautions. Plan in advance. Double-check before doin’ anything, y’know – questionable.”
Castiel seemed pleased. “Exactly.”
Dean wet his lips.
Two minutes of typing and he had to go again.
“It’s getting worse,” Dean whispered, two fingers pressing his crotch, right over his slit, trying to keep pressure there. “I think it’s all reaching my bladder, three-and-a-half hours of constant sipping’s caught up with me.” There was an uneasy rasp in his voice, and his grin shook.
“Here.” Castiel handed him his empty cup. “Fill it.”
Dean turned for the water cooler, but Castiel chirped, “Ah-bup!” Dean looked back, and Castiel’s eyes dipped down.
Dean let out a breath. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” Castiel rotated his chair to watch.
Dean sighed, smiling as he humped forward to the edge of the chair, unzipping, pulling himself out.
“Go easy, or you’ll overflow,” Castiel warned.
Dean nodded, looking down. He set his cock at the edge of the cup, and let out a spurt. It looked completely clear, and so small in volume that it only clung to the bottom edges of the paper cup. Letting out a long, calming breath, Dean relaxed and let a slow trickle flow out of him, hissing, pouring down the inside wall of the cup.
The sound of it changed, deepening as he reached the quarter mark, then halfway. He sped up, wanting to let it all out, but then gasped and had to stop, desperately, desperately squeezing before he spilled anything. The fluid was only the faintest of yellows.
“Good.” Castiel stroked Dean’s thigh. “Does that feel better?”
Dean shook his head. “Just wanna piss it all out, Cas. I’m fuckin’ shaking.”
Castiel stroked his thigh again, nodding. “I can feel you trembling.” He held out his hand. “I’ll pour it away.”
Dean handed the cup over, tingling because it wasn’t just warm, it was hot, and the heat came through the cup easily. Cas definitely felt it.
Castiel got up and carried the cup to the trash can, bowing to tip it all in. Then he put the cup in too. Then he wandered back to the desk, but sat on its edge with his back to Dean and the laptop, looking back with a smile. “Do you want to watch?”
Dean wasn’t sure what he’d be watching. “Uh. Okay?” Castiel pulled his cock out of his fly again, and Dean let out a quiet sound as he realised Cas was gonna pee in the trash can from four feet away. “No...”
Castiel laughed. “Don’t think I can make it?”
Dean shook his head, getting up, rushing to Castiel’s side, grinning. He felt boyishly giddy, like this was some stupid pissing contest, the kind every kid with a penis partook in at some point. “You’re gonna soak the carpet.”
“So what?” Castiel said, starting to pee. “You already missed the can.” Of course, his first spurt drifted along the carpet in thick drops, leading a path to the trash can. He overshot, and then returned his aim to the target, while Dean guffawed, watching the carpet darken where it got wet.
“Two... three,” Castiel sighed, easing to a stop. He left a second trail leading back to his body, and a drip on his shoe. He shook his shoe, then his cock, and put himself away, zipping up.
“Okay, look, not gonna lie,” Dean grinned, hands out, “the hotness of this is questionable. For me, anyway. I like the, uh, the control, or whatever. The fact you’re tellin’ me where to piss and how. But that?” He gestured with a careless finger at the mess. “That was hilarious. Like. This is kind of fun, right? Pissing on stuff.”
Castiel rolled his eyes, smiling.
“It is, right?” Dean followed him back to the desk, and they sat properly. “Just going wherever we want. Needing to piss and just... going? You know? Like in the wild.”
“Yes, of course. We were never suited to offices.”
“Oh, no, no, I love me a good office, don’t get me wrong,” Dean said, pulling up their document again, scrolling to find where they’d left off. “It’s just – kinda naughty. Doin’ outside things inside. Doing bathroom things in a freakin’ office.”
Castiel looked at Dean fondly. “So long as you’re enjoying yourself.”
Dean nodded, reaching for the empty cup on the desk, then leaning left to fill it with fresh water. “Wanna drink?”
“A new cup, if you please.”
Dean grinned and tugged one from the dispenser above the water spout, turning it over and filling it with cool water.
They both drank, downplaying how eager they were to guzzle it all and refill. But they downed two, nearly three cups each, and Dean was already squirming.
A few minutes later, Castiel got up and brought back the trash can, settling it right by his wheely chair. Dean glanced in and didn’t see any liquid, but could see the paper inside had gone soggy, and was softening into mush. God, it was crazy, but the sight of the trash can kinda turned him on. He looked away, privately embarrassed by the things he was learning about himself tonight.
“Tell me about the chatroom,” Castiel said, grunting and leaning back in his chair.
“Um, well?” Dean scratched his chin. “We can maybe host it via a secure third party site, since someone with no coding skills wouldn’t—” His breath caught, because he noticed Cas unzipping.
“Carry on,” Castiel said softly.
“Right. Well. It, the-the-the, um. We should.” Dean became vaguely aware of his own mouth moving and saying things, but his eyes and attention were all on Cas, because he spread his thighs apart and let his wrinkled foreskin rest on the seat of the leather chair, but he didn’t touch his cock with his hands – he yawned, and leaned back casually, arms up to streeeetch...
And he began to pee on the seat, a dark, shiny line of piss pooling into the dips in the chair, then filling and overflowing off the side of the seat, trickling and dripping and spilling down onto the carpet, sort of in the trash can, sort of just on the floor.
Dean babbled about coding and entrapment and the ivory trade with unconcious run-on sentences that he wasn’t even sure made sense, just watching Cas urinate in the laziest way possible, hands locked casually behind his neck. He hadn’t even bothered to sit at the edge of the chair, he just went where he was sitting.
Castiel finished his stretch, and sighed, putting his cock away. His seat was still dripping. “Yes,” he said, “those are very smart ideas, Dean, you should add them to the project.”
Dean had no idea what he’d said. “Mmmaybe you. Put them.”
“Okay,” Castiel smiled. He leaned towards the laptop and started to type. The movement of his ass in his seat pushed a small wave of piss onto the carpet, dripping again. There was a dark line made up of drips on the carpet now, parallel to the edge of the seat.
Maybe Cas’ ass was all wet now.
God.
He just... peed. Just stretched, and went right there. Lazy-ass sonovabitch didn’t even bother to check if he was peeing in the trash can.
Dean had no idea why it was hot but it fucking was.
Also? Dean had now determined that there was no rule or taboo against using the carpet on purpose. He could use the carpet later if he wanted. He kept looking down to see Cas’ little wet drip puddle. That used to be inside him. Maybe it was still warm.
“Dean,” Castiel said. “Pay attention.”
“Uh. Right. Yeah.” Dean hopped on his seat, feeling liquid swoosh inside him. He crossed his legs at the ankle and took the laptop Castiel angled his way. He read over what Cas typed, and was surprised to remember vaguely, yes, he had said those things aloud. Guess his brain worked even when he wasn’t thinking.
It wasn’t long at all before Dean felt the telltale sign of pressure in the tip of his cock. He needed to go very soon or he’d just wet his pants. He wondered if that would be fun, but decided against it, because he still needed to sit through the night in these clothes, and he didn’t have anything to change into.
While Castiel started a phone call with Charlie, discussing the website in his trademark controlled monotone, Dean drifted into fantasy, wondering where to pee next.
He could do what Cas did. Open his fly and go on the floor.
Or get up against the wall and pretend it was a urinal. Soak the carpet underneath his shoes. Ooh. The walls were wipeable so that would be easy to clean.
But Dean felt weird thinking that. As much fun as the mess was, he didn’t wanna get in trouble. At least if he made it look like an accident, then if anyone found out, he could blame it all on a long night and locked bathrooms.
He was taking too long to think about it. He was so goddamn desperate, and was getting more desperate by the second, as water dripped into his swollen bladder as quickly as he’d drank it. The flow was constant, as the intake had been near-constant.
Shit. Dean just wanted to let it all go, but he was only allowed three seconds. He was starting to hump in his seat, squirming in a rhythm, helpless. Cas hadn’t said he could go yet. He was still on the phone. He noticed Dean’s movements, and eyed him with a sultry smile. He held his hand over the phone receiver and whispered to Dean, “Hold on until ten o’clock.”
Dean checked the laptop’s clock. Four minutes. He nodded. He could do it.
He looked longingly at the paper cup of water on the desktop. He snatched it and drank it, with the purpose of making it empty so he could fill it under the desk, only to realise he made the problem worse. Somehow one more sip was enough to push everything else down, and he felt a hot squirt in his panties. He let out a slow, shaking breath through his lips, wriggling deeply into his chair, hand between his thighs.
He fantasised about releasing. Just peeing right here, doing nothing to resist. Flooding his panties, flooding his suit pants, darkening his pants and socks and getting it in his shoes as it waterfalled down between his inner thighs. Puddle on the carpet. Warm on his skin, clinging to his clothes. He whimpered, wanting to do it.
Castiel glanced at him. “Wait,” he whispered. He reached to stroke Dean’s arm.
Dean nodded, frantic. He could wait. Even if his panties were noticeably damp now.
He fantasised about standing up, ready to go to the trash can, but not being able to make it, so standing at the desk and just holding his dick and peeing right on its top. It was a thick wooden desk with a tough leather square inlaid in the top. The pee would puddle on the leather, clinging in uneven lakes. Some would fall off the back and drip-drip-dribble onto the floor. Cas would watch, purring, stroking Dean’s lower back and murmuring praises for holding on so long.
No... that last bit was real. Cas had ended his phone call, and now he leaned close, his dark voice curling heat into Dean’s ear. “You’re doing so well. I know you’re desperate, I know you want to go so badly. Don’t you?”
Dean whimpered, nodding, hands clutching between his legs.
“You’re so good,” Castiel assured him. “So patient. Can you wait a little longer? It’s ten now, can you wait two more minutes for me?”
“Okaay,” Dean shivered, voice quaking. “I gotta go so fuckin’ bad, Cas. Panties are wet. Just wanna. Wanna go in them.”
“Would you like to do that? Piss in your panties?”
Dean nodded.
“Let out a spurt,” Castiel said. “Now. Just one, then stop.”
Dean gasped. “Nonono, if I do that, I’m gonna. I’m not gonna stop.”
“I think you can. I think you have very strong, controlled muscles, Dean, you’ve held on this long. I myself am exceedingly desperate, I can only imagine how badly you need to let go.”
“H-How do you. How are you so fuckin’ calm?” Dean snapped.
Castiel met his sharpness with softness. “I’m screaming inside, Dean. I’m staying calm so you get through this. I like how much you’re squirming.”
Dean laughed breathily, eyes closed, head back. “HHmmmm.”
“Let out a spurt,” Castiel said again. “Hold my hand.”
Dean snatched his hand without question. “Okay,” he whispered. “One spurt.”
He relaxed, then tensed, and then roared with a breath, because a complete shoot of piss had hissed into his panties in just a split-second. He laughed, tipping his hips into the seat. “Fuck. Fuck, that’s wet. Auuh. Hot. ‘S real hot, too.”
“Good.” Castiel stroked his hand with his thumb. “How badly do you need to go?”
“Worse than before,” Dean sobbed, hand squashing his wet crotch. “Trying real hard not to get a boner.”
“You can get hard,” Castiel said. “You’ll hold on for longer.”
Dean moaned, biting his lip and sucking. “No, I gotta go. I gotta go before I get hard, or it’s gonna hurt my belly too much.”
“Alright,” Castiel said softly. “How long can you hold on?”
Dean shrugged roughly. “How long d’ya want?”
Castiel chuckled, grinning. “One more minute, Dean.”
“‘Kay.”
“Where do you want to urinate when it’s time?” Castiel asked.
Dean shook his head. “Can’t pick. You pick.”
“I want you to choose.”
Dean shook his head. “Can’t. Just wanna go.”
“Then go. Right where you’re sitting.” Castiel looked towards the trash can. “Tell me when it’s about to happen, and I’ll give you the can.”
“‘Kay.” Dean pressed his legs tighter than ever before. They didn’t want to be that tight; his legs were bowed out and they weren’t used to squeezing.
“Open your legs,” Castiel said. “And don’t touch.”
Dean looked at him, affronted. “I won’t hold on.”
“Then don’t,” Castiel said, confidence and assurance in his blue eyes. “Experience the desperation as openly as you can.”
Dean parted his shaking legs, gasping over and over, hand clutched in Castiel’s. Slowly, he retrieved his fist from between his legs and held the edge of the desk instead. He kept looking down, waiting, waiting for the moment the already-dark fabric would start to glimmer with flowing water, warming his balls and his ass and filling up the seat.
But all he did was shiver; nothing came, despite how sure he was that it would. He held every muscle in his lower half in absolute tension, fearing to move, knowing it would all spill out.
Castiel watched the clock.
Dean suspected it had been more than a minute, but Cas was keeping him desperate.
Two minutes.
Without looking, Dean undid the catch on his belt, then opened the belt entirely, relieving pressure on his bladder. He relaxed a bit, but then the relaxation made him need to go even worse. Now he was vibrating, thighs flinching, lip bitten, breath uneven. “Gotta go. Gotta go so bad.”
“Hold it.” Castiel lifted Dean’s hand and kissed the back. “Won’t it be so good to let it go, when you’re this desperate? Imagine how fast it’ll come out. Imagine how loud it’ll be when it hits the trash can.”
Dean groaned in desire, because he’d thought about those things twenty times already.
“Imagine how much you can get done in three seconds,” Castiel teased.
Dean complained, squirming violently. “Needta go. Needta go. Wanna piss, Cas.”
“Hold on, just a bit longer.”
Dean keened, squeezing his thighs together.
“No, Dean,” Castiel took his thigh and parted it from the other. “Keep them apart. Does that make you feel more desperate?”
Dean nodded.
“Do you like the feeling?”
Dean laughed softly, casting a dirty glance towards Castiel. “Can’t freakin’ deal with how bad I wanna piss. Feels exciting to wait, yeah.”
“I’m incredibly desperate, too,” Castiel said, without inflection. “I want to lean back and open my pants and go all over the floor. I feel like it would be so hot it would steam.”
Dean chuckled. “I hate you. Ugh, ughhh, why. Why’re you doing this to me.”
“I don’t know.” Castiel reached to finger Dean’s hair back from his forehead, then combing it with his fingers. “I think I like you a lot more than I realised.”
“So you wanna make me piss myself?”
“Yes.” Castiel smiled, in a kind, gentle sort of way. “Purely because you’re letting me. And no matter what you say, I think you do want this, Dean, or you wouldn’t be letting me.”
Dean cocked his head, admitting that sounded fair. “I had no idea I liked this fuckery until you stood over a trash can and went in it. Dunno. Just. The way you were like. Hey, watch me do this.”
Castiel smirked. “I want to watch you.” He let go of Dean’s hand and instead slipped his wide palm and fingers over Dean’s half-hard cock, rubbing, then squeezing. “I want to watch you feel three perfect seconds of bliss. Utter relief. And then hold again, for me.”
Dean nodded, licking his lips. “Can we – now? Now. Wanna.”
“Ten more seconds.”
Dean growled, thrusting his ass slowly into the chair, toes curled in his shoes, fists gripping the desk. “I gotta go, Cas. So fucking bad. It’s in my goddamn dick. Kinda – seepin’ into my panties right now.”
“Seven more seconds.”
Then, when those seconds were over, “Six more seconds.”
Dean sobbed. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
Dean shook his head. “Now, Cas, right now, I can’t—” He unzipped, unbuttoned, not bothering to pull his panties down – but while Castiel reached for the trash can, Dean just went.
He let it go through the lace and right onto the carpet, with superhuman force, pummelling waves and massive, endless splashes onto the blue surface, pouring a dark V under the desk. He held his cock and leaned back in the chair, sighing in relief, over and over.
“Three seconds—”
Dean shook his head. “I gotta go.” He kept going. The force of it only got stronger, ten seconds in.
He rolled back on his chair a bit, looking at the puddle as it grew. So shiny. So black. It grew away from him as he kept going, mostly in a big circle, but stretching longways as his cock got harder. He let it rise, grinning as a strong, constant stream hit the back of the desk, the sound changing from a pssssshh to a rumble of pthmthbmtht. Rolling back some more, he saw how most of the clear drips flowed off the desk’s back and straight down onto the carpet, while others collected on the bottom edge, magnetising to other drops and falling eight inches, becoming part of the ever-growing puddle.
Dean glanced at Castiel, grinning as he saw how enraptured he was with the puddle, eyes slowly following the shivering line of liquid up, up to Dean’s wet tip inside his dripping panties, and his careless hand, only just holding his semi-erection.
Dean let it go for a moment, and it bounced up inside his underwear, flinging an arch onto and over the desk – he yelped, grabbing his cock and whacking it back down, but Cas was laughing, and Dean was blushing, and the left half of the desk was very wet. Luckily Castiel’s laptop, and both their phones, FBI badges, and car keys were over on the right.
“Still going?” Castiel asked, stroking Dean’s bare thigh, just above where his suit pants were all bunched up.
“Yeah.” Dean just let it the fuck out. He aimed at the middle of the puddle, and circled his stream around. He heard it slooshing and swishing, as he watched the liquid sort of spread out, sort of sink down, rippling the puddle’s surface the tiniest bit.
“Feel good?”
“Fucking awesome.” Dean smiled. “What’s it been, a minute?”
“About that, yes,” Castiel said, a shake in his voice. Dean glanced over and saw him nursing a clothed erection, rubbing his cock through his slacks.
“You wanna go too?”
“Too hard,” Castiel said, fingering his bulge. “Need to come first.”
Dean quirked up an eyebrow. “Want help?”
Castiel grinned. “Finish first.”
Dean bounced to the edge of the seat and aimed directly below, at a new patch of carpet, making a new puddle. It was satisfying. He made that all by himself.
“Fuck,” Castiel said.
Dean looked over – Cas was pulling himself out of his open pants, cock fully erect, veins raised, the head plush and red, pushing towards Castiel’s navel. Castiel gave Dean a disgraced look, then growled, “I’m not waiting,” and got up, taking Dean by the arm and pulling him to his feet, shoving him face-down against the desk. Dean gasped – he kept peeing against the handles of the desk drawers, his chest and shirt and necktie now soaked with his own warm piss from the desktop.
He gasped again as he felt Castiel’s cock thwap down over his ass, on his panties, and Cas began to fuck between his ass cheeks, piss-wet lace and his own pre-come slicking his way. Castiel grunted deeply, hands holding Dean’s lower back, weight on his ass. Dean grinned, looking back as his forehead pressed to the leather top of the desk. “Yeah. Fuck me, Cas. I’m still peeing.”
Castiel laughed – actually amused by that. “Sorry,” he said, grunting as he pushed, pushed against Dean’s ass, a hot, saucy sausage in a lacy hot dog bun. “Couldn’t wait another second.”
“Was I too hot to resist?” Dean asked, fingers and palms crawling, then sliding against the desktop, touching the wetness. “Or do you just need to piss real bad?”
“Both,” Castiel said, a shake in his hands and a gasp in his voice. “Auuhhh, you feel nice. So nice, Dean. Thank you. Thank you for letting me... Ouuhh...”
Now Dean was finally done peeing, he spread his legs a bit, hearing his right shoe tap into his two-foot puddle. He wriggled his ass, grinning when Castiel laughed, then groaned.
“Get between my thighs,” Dean suggested. “It’s wet.”
Castiel held Dean’s hip with one hand, forcing his cock between his thighs with the other. He cried out in pleasure, deep and rolling, and Dean murmured, delighted to be used like that. He could smell the tang of his piss mixed with old leather from the desk, but it was a soft smell, a tender aroma, nothing gross. Everything was diluted down from how much they’d drunk, and a noticeable warmth still rose from the puddle like invisible steam. Dean felt it even through his half-fallen slacks.
“Ahh, Dean,” Castiel grunted, hips slamming Dean’s ass, hard cock bumping Dean’s lace-covered ballsack from behind. “Hmmmmmm. Squeeze your thighs together.”
“Oh, now you want me to do that,” Dean uttered, grinning when Castiel laughed.
“So tight,” Castiel said, gratified when Dean wound his legs together. “Ughh, so wet. So wet. Yes. Oauh.”
Dean let out a quick spurt of piss against the desk drawers, because he was getting an erection and it was going to be impossible to pee if he was rock-hard. He couldn’t touch himself, because his front was pressed entirely to the desk, but he got hard against the drawers, cockhead pointing down to the carpet, all of him still contained inside the well-stretched lace. It helped that his panties had been pulled down a couple inches.
“Mm.” Castiel kissed Dean’s neck, hands stroking up his back, scrunching his untucked shirt. “Beautiful. How do you feel now, Dean, all empty?”
“Amazin’,” Dean answered, eyes closing as he smiled, cheek rubbing on the desk as Cas bumped his ass over and over. “Once I’ve come I’m gonna need to go again. Can still feel it sloshin’.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe,” Castiel breathed, “how badly I need to urinate right now, Dean. I wish I could pee instead of coming, I know it would feel even better.”
Dean spread his legs again. “Stick your dick in my panties.”
Castiel slowed his thrusts. “Inside?”
Dean nodded. “Uh-huh. Fuck my taint.”
Castiel sounded like he was grinning as he said, “Okay.”
He eased out from between Dean’s upper thighs, instead sliding himself into the stretchy pink lace Dean wore, two of Dean’s fingers holding open the leg hole so Cas could slip in.
“Hmmmm,” Dean groaned. “You’re all slippery too.”
“Pre-come,” Castiel said.
“Yeah.” Dean squirmed back, rushing with arousal as Cas’ cock slid easily along the dip of his perineum, pushing on his scrotum, bulging out the front of the panties, making Dean’s cock tap the desk.
“I want to come like this,” Castiel whispered.
Dean nodded. “Okay. Make me all wet.”
Castiel chuckled. “Oh, I can promise you that.”
He leaned close to Dean’s back, wrapped his arms against his waist, and returned to humping, pushing, cockhead sliding along Dean’s taint. Dean put his legs together once more, keeping them tight.
Cas kept up that movement for almost a minute, sometimes slowing, sometimes going faster. He groaned aloud and bit open-mouthed on the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean cooed at the sting. Cas kissed him, and touched him all over, breaths ragged on the nape of his neck.
“Freckles,” Castiel breathed, mouthing at Dean’s shoulder. “Mmmh. Mine.”
Dean bit his lip, smiling softly. He didn’t want to say anything, but that one utterance, that one word – mine – made him feel things he’d never felt in a sexual context. Happy, content, safe things. He didn’t have to choose whether or not to be with Cas, because Cas had clearly chosen him first. The pressure was off.
“Dean,” Castiel muttered. “Hm. Dean. Dean.”
“That’s it, Cas,” Dean whispered. “Fuck me. C’mon.”
“Auh— Auh! Dean! Dean!” Castiel grasped Dean’s hips, his own hips pushing and pushing but never disconnecting from Dean’s ass, wet cock sliding in the tight little gap between his squeezed thighs. One of Dean’s black shoes locked behind his ankle, because his bowlegs didn’t let him squeeze tight enough unless he did that. Dean yowled, feeling Cas’s push become more intense. His cock was so damn fat between Dean’s legs.
“Dean!” Castiel’s voice broke, howling deep, and he came with a hard spurt of heat that flicked against Dean’s scrotum. “Dean! Dean, yes— Oh, God, yes...”
He relaxed, peeing at last. He peed straight into Dean’s panties, where the fluid gushed, folding back on itself and tickling Dean’s taint, as Dean sighed then gasped in pleasure, feeling Castiel’s relief pouring hot down the backs of his twisted thighs, soaking his bunched-up suit pants.
“Auuhhh,” Castiel moaned, resting his forehead down on Dean’s back. “Dean...”
Dean moaned, parting his legs, setting his shoes a shoulder-width apart. He sighed in delight as Cas’ release gushed into the cotton lining of his suit pants, wetting his knees, clinging to leg hair on its way down. Hard, heavy drops were already hitting the floor as they fell straight; Dean heard a few splash into his own puddles.
“Ohh, yeah,” Dean sighed. “Yeah, let it go. Let it go. Sshhhh.” He grinned, dizzy with pleasure. Cas was peeing directly into his taint and it felt incredible. Searing hot. A good, steady pressure rushing out in a single line.
“Ouh, Dean... Oh...” Castiel groaned, nuzzling Dean’s back. “Oh, there’s so much.”
“Keep going,” Dean said. “All of it.”
Castiel began kissing his back. “Mm. Hmm.”
Dean began to stand up a bit more, and Castiel stood with him. Dean kept his weight balanced on the desk with both palms, but looked down between his legs, seeing his furiously hard cock straining at his soaked panties, and seeing the constant flash of water as it trickled down his inner thighs.
Castiel sighed, kissing Dean’s shoulder as he kept going, cock slowly sagging, now just peeing directly on Dean’s leg. Dean looked down, grinning at the moment Castiel’s flow changed direction by itself, splitting into two, then joining up again, pattering onto the absolutely drenched carpet.
The heat rising from below was blissful. The smell was so gentle too, kinda calming. Dean was sure it was meant to be gross but it was too fresh and diluted to be gross. It was just hot water.
Castiel let out a deep, raw groan at the back of his throat, letting go of Dean’s waist to reach down and touch his own now-limp cock. He lifted it, letting a few long spurts out against Dean’s lower back – Dean gasped, laughing, tickled by its heat, and how it sank into his shirt back – but then Cas was done, and relaxed with a content sigh.
“Mmmm.” Dean turned around, perching his soggy ass on the edge of the desk. “Hey there.”
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said lowly, holding Dean’s eyes. Cas was still brimming with lust, and he leaned close to kiss Dean.
Dean shut his eyes and sighed, relaxing. He started to masturbate, hand squeezing dribbles out of his wet panties. He murmured, smooching, letting Cas turn his head as they kissed. Dean groaned, loving how Cas kissed. Bristly, but soft. Wet, but rough. Hot breaths on his cheek; wet fingers under his chin.
“Mm— Mm,” Dean broke the kiss to look down, watching himself jack off. His panties only had the faintest patches left dry: they were a lighter pink at the sides, while the front and back and undersides were darker and squishy. Where they clung to Dean’s slit, he could see pre-come pearling through the lace – and so could Castiel, as he moved a hand and touched Dean’s tip with a finger. He stroked Dean’s slit through the sodden fabric as Dean worked the length, and slowly, rhythmically, holding each other’s eyes and smiling, they together brought Dean to climax.
Dean shut his eyes as it happened, but Castiel held him and watched, purring in his throat, muttering praises. “Look at that... Oh, isn’t that good? Isn’t that good, Dean, letting it out? Ouhhh, yes, you beauty. You wonderful man.” He took Dean’s jaw and kissed him as he pumped out the last bit of come onto Castiel’s waist, wiping it on his work shirt. Dean moaned, relaxing, letting Castiel hold him and touch him however he liked.
“Do you need to go, still?” Castiel whispered thickly into Dean’s ear. “Do you want to go here, now?”
“Okay,” Dean said.
“Go on, then.”
Dean peed, moaning, shutting his eyes, biting his lip. Felt crazy to do it, now, sitting at the edge of the desk, not looking to see where it would go, not caring, or noticing. He just let go of everything that was left, and it felt so soft coming out, like a content sigh as he hit the bed at the end of a long day. He kept his eyes closed, head lolling as Castiel sucked his neck, wet fingers tracing circles at the nape of Dean’s neck, bristling his shortest hair.
“Dean?” Castiel asked.
“Hmm?” Dean asked, too blissed out to think. He opened his eyes, seeing Castiel’s dark, adoring gaze looking back from mere inches away. He smiled dopily, feeling Castiel’s thumb on his chin, rising...
Castiel took Dean’s lower lip and opened his mouth, and Dean let him sink his thumb in, eyes falling closed as he sucked.
He tasted skin, salt, pre-come. Barely any pee at all, though he could smell it. He licked, and moaned, and flopped forward onto Castiel’s shoulder as Cas finally slipped his thumb out.
“You’ve been so good, Dean,” Castiel breathed against his neck. “Oh, can you even believe it? Can you stand up for me?”
Dean murmured, shaking as he lowered his wet shoes fully to the ground, taking his weight. He bent to unlace them, as he needed to get his pants off, as they were heavy with Castiel’s piss and starting to feel cold.
While he was down there, he saw how dark and how wide the puddles were. They’d almost all connected now, save a few spots here and there. Over the evening, he and Cas must’ve peed out over a gallon between them, probably. All over the carpet.
Dean was blushing as he stood straight, dipping his bare feet into the puddle. It was still splishy and warm, and the sensation sent a lightning shock up his spine. He gave Castiel a happy smile, and Castiel smiled back, before looking down and peeing a little more where he stood. It fell softly beside Dean’s foot.
“Okay,” Castiel said, finally, as he gave one last spurt, untouched, making his cock jump. He shivered. “I think I’m done. At least for now.”
Dean murmured, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around, loosening his tie with one hand as he lamented, “How the fuck are we gonna clean this?”
Castiel bit his lip, making a thoughtful noise, as if only now realising exactly what they’d done in their passion. Everything under the desk was soaked dark, not to mention his desk chair, which still had a puddle in the middle – or the desk itself, or what might’ve dripped inside the thankfully empty drawers. Or the trash can, or the carpet where the trash can used to be. Or the area five feet beside that. The only thing that hadn’t been peed on were the four walls and the ceiling. And even then, Dean had thought about it.
“I have some clothes you can wear,” Castiel said, touching Dean’s bare stomach as he undid his shirt. “Jogging shorts and a t-shirt.”
“Pff,” Dean said. “Knew you did some kinda workout. ‘Course you’re a runner. Thick legs like that.” He shrugged. “Okay, then, but what’re you gonna wear?”
“Me, I’m not too wet,” Castiel said, looking down at himself as he pulled his pants up, buttoning them, and doing up his belt. “Just wet boxers. And a wet ass. And your semen on my shirt. There’s a couple of towels in my car I can sit on.”
“Right.” Dean licked his lips, gazing at the room. “Guess we, uh, christened this place real good, huh?”
Castiel laughed, fist against his forehead.
“Hey,” Dean said, tapping Castiel’s arm. “The cleaning crew. Outside the men’s room, they’ve got a-a-a-a cart, a wheely thing of paper towels and disinfectant sprays and mops and stuff.”
Castiel inhaled, clicking both fingers. “And a carpet washer! There’s a carpet washer outside the ladies’ room.”
“Awesome,” Dean grinned. “Now,” he rubbed his hands, then gestured to Castiel, “me, I’m buck naked. So you be a good man and go get all of that, yeah?”
Castiel smiled, leaning close to smack a sweet kiss on Dean’s lips. “Yeah.”
··· ♥ ···
Dean paced the dry part of the room while Cas was gone. He couldn’t process. He must’ve lost his mind part-way through the night, surely. He was always a good agent, a good worker, a guy who followed the rules. He didn’t get to be an FBI agent, even in one of the smallest departments, by breaking rules.
But, hey... come to think of it... nobody ever made a written rule not to use the floor of an office as a toilet. Even as an unwritten rule, Dean could still claim it was a needs-based accidental thing. Because it kind of was, the first time. He’d aimed for the trash can and missed. If he hadn’t done that this place probably would’ve stayed clean, and the trash can would just be very full.
Dean gasped and covered himself with his hands as someone entered, but relaxed when he saw it was a wheeled carpet washer, followed by Cas with armfuls of paper towels and a gym bag of clothing.
He tossed Dean the gym bag, and then passed him an actual bath towel, warm and soaked.
“Dude! Did you piss in this?” Dean exclaimed, holding the towel out.
“What? No,” Castiel said bluntly. “I put hot water on it in the staff kitchen. It’s for you to clean yourself up.”
“Oh. Cool.” Dean relaxed and began to wipe, starting with his hands, then moving to his hair, face, then torso, and down. While he did that, Castiel doled out paper towels, placing them over the wet patches in a strictly methodological way, so no space was uncovered but none of that rough blue paper was wasted.
“We’re gonna plant a tree after this, Cas,” Dean said. “Never used that many paper towels in my life.”
Dean cleaned the soles of his feet, then reached for the gym bag and pulled out Castiel’s shorts, laughing when he saw them. “Bet these make your ass look awesome, huh.”
“I’ve never thought to check,” Castiel mused, looking over when Dean shucked the shorts on over his bare ass. “But – turn around?” Castiel made a pleased noise. “They make yours look beautiful.”
Dean put on the t-shirt happily, even happier when he saw it had the Road Runner on it. “Knew you were a nerd.”
“Can never pick between Scooby Doo – the dog, not the show – and the Road Runner. I like both equally. Scooby, of course, comes with Shaggy, which means he’s two-for-one.”
“What’re you tryna do, buy them?” Dean laughed.
“Befriend them,” Castiel answered, stomping his boot on the towels under the desk, then deciding he needed more paper to soak up the liquid, and adding a second layer. “I always liked the idea of being friends with someone who I could learn every detail about, but they could never find out what a disappointment I am.”
Dean went quiet. “Who said you were a disappointment?”
Castiel looked up. “Compared to a cartoon character? Being an actual real person makes me fairly flawed, I think. At the very least, if I get covered in something dirty, I have to take a shower, I can’t just – hbghhhhghhhh—” He shook himself like a dog, cheeks hitting his teeth, “and make myself clean again.”
Dean snorted, sauntering up to him, stepping only in the dry spots. “Okay, I maybe see where you’re coming from. But that’s not a flaw with you, it’s a flaw of real life. Only...” He grinned, tilting his head as he watched Castiel picking up handfuls of dripping towels and plunking them into the trash can. “Only thing is, Cas, cartoons never have to pee. Or maybe only when it suits the plot, right?” He fingered Castiel’s untucked shirt, flapping the hem. “Their loss, huh?”
Castiel looked at him, starting to smile. “Their loss indeed.”
Dean took a breath, looking around. “Alright! What do I do?”
“Figure out how to run the carpet washer,” Castiel said. “There’s hot water in it already, and soap. Just need to plug it in and go, I think.”
“Nice.”
Dean had to open the door and find a plug outside, because he didn’t want the cable to trail through a puddle. He plugged it in, came back, and spent a minute fiddling with the contraption, until it whirred and clunked to life, and he had to yell to Cas, “Got it working!”
“Yes, I noticed,” Castiel shouted back, tipping the trash can’s contents and a big glosh of water into a industrial-strength trash bag.
Dean lined up the carpet washer on one side of the room, and slowly... sloooowly made his way to the other side, putting a bubbly, faintly white layer of shampoo down. Then back, sucking it all up. He marvelled at how the carpet was left pristine and only a touch damp.
“Lucky, eh?” Dean called, as he reached his third row with the sucker-upper. “We found this just lying around?”
Castiel eyed him fondly. “Yes. Lucky. I didn’t plan this entire evening around the fact it would be there, not at all.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “Okay, you?” He pointed at Cas, shaking his finger. “You’re planning the wedding.”
Castiel startled. “Wedding?” he shouted over the machine.
Dean grinned and shrugged. “Maybe? Few years?”
Castiel looked happily flustered, ducking his head and hiding behind the desk as he cleaned up the drawers with purple spray spritzed onto more paper towels. Dean peered over when he got close, and saw Cas peer back, a little twinkle in his eyes. Dean winked and went back to mowing the carpet clean.
They pushed the desk aside together, and spent a full hour cleaning that side of the room. Like, a full goddamn hour.
While Castiel pushed the carpet washer, Dean emailed Charlie, typing to her about the actual FBI job they were trying to do.
And while Dean pushed, Castiel typed.
Castiel snuck off to empty the carpet washer’s dirty water a couple of times, and snuck back just as sneakily, looking around to make sure nobody saw him.
They both grew weary around midnight, by which point the bathrooms were definitely open again, but for some reason, no cleaner had yet come to locate their carpet washer. Maybe they just hadn’t come this way. Or they heard it, but thought another cleaner from the FBI cleaner team was cleaning this office.
Either way, Dean and Castiel shared a good amount of time together, even if it was exhausting and they could barely hear each other over the buzz.
Finally, Dean switched off the carpet cleaner, and his ears were left ringing. He wiped his hands on the now-cold but still-damp towel and sighed.
“Okay, this?” He shook his head. “What we did tonight. Carpet cleaner included. This was the craziest, kinkiest sex I’ve ever had. Just thought you oughta know.”
“It was the only sex I’ve ever had,” Castiel said calmly, sitting on the desk, leaning to one side, typing. He looked up and smiled at Dean. “Just thought you ought to know.”
“Wait.” Dean pointed weakly at him. “That was your first time? Ever?”
“Yes, and?”
Dean let out a breath, looking aside, laughing somewhat manically. “You’re thirty-something, almost forty, and the first time you decide to bang someone, it’s me, and you pissed down my legs.”
Castiel shrugged, eyes on the now-very-clean laptop. “Maybe I finally found something worth doing with someone worth doing.”
Dean bit his lip, grinning. He sidled up to the desk, bumping Castiel’s thigh with his borrowed booty shorts. “Guess you did. Freak.”
Castiel looked at him, ready to be offended, but then saw the glint of affection in Dean’s gaze, and smiled. He turned to the laptop, slapped it closed, and said, “We’re done for the night. Charlie can take care of the rest until tomorrow.”
“Aw.” Dean pursed his lips. “So we’re heading home now?”
“If you like.” Castiel took his laptop, standing before Dean, their eyelines level, until Castiel relaxed into his usual slouch, and he was an inch shorter. “My home or yours?”
Dean started to grin. It spread up his cheek, no doubt shining in his eyes, and Castiel reflected it, equally lopsided.
“Yours,” Dean answered. “Sammy’s at my place.”
“Hm.” Castiel lowered his gaze to Dean’s lips. “Are you thirsty?”
Dean shut his head, shaking his head. “Couldn’t drink another fuckin’ drop, Cas. Not even coffee. You know what I need? I need some pie. Sweet cherry pie, in fact. Or a burger. Hell, I’d take cake at this point. You hear that?” He patted his rumbling stomach. “That’s the sound of an empty tank. ‘Feed me something other than water, you asshole,’ it’s saying.”
Castiel nodded knowingly. “We can buy dinner on the way home. But...” He tilted his head, fingertips tiptoeing up Dean’s chest. “How’s your bladder?”
Dean shrugged. “Ehh, I could pee.”
Castiel smirked. “I think I’m a little tired for antics. There’s a perfectly good men’s room just down the hall.”
Dean cackled. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, let’s just share a goddamn urinal, cross the streams, and then go home.”
Castiel laughed, head down. “You’ve been very good for me, Dean.” He looked up and met Dean’s eyes tenderly... lovingly. “I just want to thank you for that. You did incredibly well this evening.”
Dean batted a hand dismissively, but Castiel drew him in, holding his hand with their fingers sliding together. “No, really,” he insisted. He kissed Dean with a warm breath and the softest moan. “I’m very proud of you.”
Dean blushed, looking down. “I... had fun, and stuff.”
“I know you did.” Castiel pecked his cheek, then tugged Dean towards the door. “Get the lights on the way out, would you? And don’t forget the gym bag, I put your wet clothes in there.”
They left the carpet washer exactly where they’d found it. Dean didn’t know where Cas had put that trash bag full of their mess, but it was definitely gone, and had definitely been disposed of in a sensible, tidy manner, because Cas was Cas, and he didn’t do anything any other way.
Well... not usually, anyway.
··· ♥ ···
“You would not believe,” Dean said to Charlie, hands out, one wrapped around a tall cup of hot take-out coffee, “how well I slept last night.”
Charlie stood on the blocked-off road with Dean, her red hair blowing in her face, looking cold as she hugged herself, hands under the arms of her pea coat.
“Seriously,” Dean said, eyes crinkled, sipping on the coffee, stuffing his free hand into his winter coat pocket. “I gotta get fucked more often. Sixteen nights in a row? Whew.”
Charlie managed a smile, but then turned to yelp, “Look! There they are!”
Dean observed Cas and Marienne emerging from the store garage in slow motion, blue morning shade cast diagonally across the street. Marienne’s black curls blew in bounces as she walked, her arm detaining the leader of the ivory reseller’s ring, a squat white guy with a sullen expression. Out behind them came Castiel, a picture of elegance in his long coat and poised expression, as photograph flashes burst around them, a colourful chatter of press questions bombarding them from every angle. Dean handed Charlie back her coffee, and she took it, sipping it as Dean hurried forward to meet with Cas.
“First guy of eight, huh?” Dean said, nudging Castiel’s side. “You got all the others?”
“Every single one of them,” Castiel confirmed, showing little on his face, but Dean saw the shine in his eyes and knew he was satisfied. “Charlie... Dean. We did it.” He looked up at Jenna, who stood nearby, passing her baby to her wife before hurrying over. Castiel slipped his hand into Dean’s, and squeezed. “All of us, we did it. We indirectly saved the lives of countless African elephants. Be proud, my friends.”
Marienne was now trying to answer the press a few feet away, while the cops took the bad guy off her hands. In the midst of all the yelling crowds who gathered to watch pianos being carted out of the garage, the guy in cuffs turned around to bellow, “And I would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling queers!”
Dean almost fell over laughing, while Charlie whooped, jumping on the spot, and Castiel went dead silent, a huge grin spreading across his face.
“Damn right, asshole!” Jenna shouted, as the guy was eased into the cop car. “Damn fucking right.”
Dean looked over at Cas, who looked back, eyes a-twinkle. Dean shut his eyes and gave him a kiss, smiling all the way through it.
“Good work, team,” Marienne said, straightening her scarf as she came up to them with a smile. “Guess I keep my job after all, thanks to you.”
“No problem, boss,” Charlie said, clapping Marienne on the back.
Marienne looked at the pale redhead in a yellow hoodie with pink headphones around her neck, and asked, “Who—? Who are you?”
“Your newest hero,” Charlie said. “Highly talented hacker and grilled cheese maker. Slightly unemployed, would like to please change that immediately. Wink wink.”
Marienne looked quickly to Castiel, who still grinned, then to Dean, who just held Castiel’s hand and swung it, then to Jenna, who nodded encouragingly, mouthing, “Website!”
Marienne nodded, and smiled at Charlie. “I’ll see what I can do. If you pass the background check, I’m sure I could rustle up a contractor’s spot for you. Dean’s said you’ve been a great help on several of his cases. Our team’s small. Always room for one more.”
Charlie whooped, “Yeah-hoo! F-B-I’m awesome!”
Dean reached over and bumped her on the arm. She punched him back: her way of saying thanks for calling her in on Operation Cinnamon in the first place.
In the chatter and rumble of things happening in the following minutes, Castiel and Dean found themselves alone, holding hands in the middle of a pedestrian-and-piano-filled street.
“My place tonight?” Dean asked.
Castiel looked unsure. “Isn’t your brother home?”
Dean shrugged, lips together. “Don’t gotta have kinky pee sex, Cas. Could just. Y’know. Meet my one-person family. I think you’d like Sam, you’d be awesome friends. Watch a movie, play a board game. Have dinner. Share my bed and cuddle n’ stuff. Y’know.” He looked down, scuffing the road with his shoe. “Guess it would be a date? Y’know. If you want.”
Castiel was smiling when Dean looked up, his mirth shining more luminously in his eyes than the beam of sunshine that just reached this street. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Dean, yes, that sounds nice.”
Dean made a happy chirp noise, then blushed, because he had no idea what that was.
Castiel just laughed, and tugged on Dean’s hand, leading him on down the street.
As a pair, they wandered back towards the thicker crowds, hands joined, shoulders together, smiling.
{ the end }